Oh Well Oh My

A week after the semi-finalists for a fiction writing contest were announced and my story wasn’t on the list, the sponsors sent me a kind email about how many submissions there were (1,300). And they referenced my story by name and told me to keep writing which I thought was nice – they didn’t have to go to the trouble. I’d keep on writing probably if I had to walk down to the beach and write haiku with a stick in the sand. It’s an ingrained kind of thing.

The story, “Grady and Irene,” is about a woman and her dog. It’s a good story, very Lake Superior, very Michigan, so, of course, I love the story and think everyone else should also love it, maybe print it up on their own and send it to all their friends. That could happen.

It’s rare for me to send a story off to a journal or magazine be judged. I’ve done that and been successful a few times and unsuccessful many more, but the exercise of it doesn’t appeal to me, mostly because of the waiting. I don’t want to wait months for a journal editor to tell me a piece ‘wasn’t quite what we are looking for.” Contests are another matter. I love a good contest. I’ve won some but lost the one that held my beloved Grady and Irene in its hands. Oh well.

Sometimes people I know who write stories and essays and submit them to prestigious journals around the country seem to feel sorry for me as if I’m trapped in some kind of great insecurity and lack of confidence and that’s why I don’t go after publication. So, they will say to me, “you’re a really good writer, Jan” as if this is news to me, my ego being what it is after all these years. I’m not the world’s greatest writer but I’m a good writer. I read my own stuff and am a decent judge. But affirmation is always welcome. I will never argue with a compliment.

Our kids gave us a box of fabulous and wonderful meats for Christmas including a package of lobster which we cooked tonight in a pan with a tremendous amount of butter and garlic and white wine and served over pasta, reheated from last night’s shrimp scampi extravaganza. My husband asked about tonight’s blog, and I told him the topic, saying “No one will be interested.” and he responded, “I think you’re right about that.” Another oh well.